


Forgiveness

by the_sock_index



Series: Sock's Rant Meme Fills [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Apologies, Consensual Kink, Dom/sub, Drunken Confessions, F/M, John Finds Out, Non-Sexual Submission, Post-Reichenbach, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:30:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_sock_index/pseuds/the_sock_index
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "John being spanked by someone who is neither... *checks archives* Sarah, Greg or Mycroft.  Alternately, John spanking someone other than Sherlock."</p>
<p>A second anon added: "I'd read the fuck out of John spanking Molly."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forgiveness

**Author's Note:**

> I asked for prompts [here](http://sherlock-rant.livejournal.com/9328.html?thread=76602736) at the [sherlock_rant](http://sherlock-rant.livejournal.com) meme.

John pauses before the door to take a deep breath. What he’s doing…well, what he’s _going_ to do…

Well. It’s necessary.

He takes one further deep breath, straightens his shoulders, and marches into the mortuary.

Molly, standing over the sink and rinsing her hands, startles and whirls around to face him. At the sight of him, her face flushes and she averts her eyes. “H-Hi,” she manages, her voice hesitant and squeaky.

John stares at her. “Are you done here?” he asks, voice flat. He takes some satisfaction from seeing her gulp visibly.

“Uh, I will be. In a bit. Just have some, you know, paperwork to finish up, um…” she trails off, twisting her fingers together and biting her lip.

“Come to the flat when you’re done,” he tells her, voice ringing with authority.

Molly gasps and flinches only a bit. “Um, is…is something wrong?”

He doesn’t deign to respond to that, simply looks at her until she can’t meet his eyes any longer. “Um. Of-of course. I-I’ll be right along. Shortly. A-after—”

“Don’t be late,” he interrupts and she halts her babbling. “You and I need to have a chat.” He stares at her for a moment—long enough for her to nod while staring at the far wall—and he exits as quickly as he arrived.

*

_”Sometimes,” she tells him—or, really, she tells the wood grain of the table, but it’s directed at him, “sometimes, I-I act badly.” She hurriedly takes a swig of her drink to cover her embarrassment._

_“Of course you don’t,” he responds immediately, reassuring._

_She cringes at his words and hunches further down in her chair, unable to look at his face but all too sure that it’s soft and concerned. “You don’t understand,” she says desperately, hopelessly. “I act badly sometimes and I need…I need_ correction _.” The words rush out of her before she can stop them—doesn’t want to stop them, but she wishes she sounded more composed._

_The silence stretches on, becomes uncomfortable and tense, and Molly finishes her drink and eyes up the exit in case she needs to make a run for it._

_She finally hears him lower his glass—it makes a heavy thunk on the table—and inhale a deep breath._

_“What sort of…correction?”_

*

The knot in her stomach is one of anticipation and dread. It’s simultaneously as heavy as a stone and as light as butterfly wings. She hesitantly knocks on his door and it doesn’t take but a moment for it to open, for him to stand there with his stern, blank face before moving to the side and letting her come in.

She gulps and stands in the entryway awkwardly, her fingers twisting together in the way they always do when she’s nervous or uncertain. In this case, there’s an added element of excitement and anticipation, but it’s always a double-edged sword.

He doesn’t say anything to her, simply begins walking to the bedroom and expects her to follow.

She does.

Once there, he turns to face her, giving her a look which she knows means that she’s to take off her clothes and—the second she begins—there’s no going back except to safeword out.

She fumbles to unbutton her cardigan, thankful that the dim lighting disguises the blush spreading across her cheeks.

When she’s finished undressing, she sees that he is sitting on the edge of the bed, watching her expectantly, but dispassionately and she shivers as her skin is bared. Goosebumps raise on her arms and she shivers again, averts her gaze and finishes undressing.

She sneaks a peak at him, out of the corner of her eye, and he looks over. The light is so low that she can’t see him properly, but she senses approval, enough that she gathers her courage together and looks at him.

He doesn’t say a word, simply motions her towards him. She doesn’t even really need the prompting. She goes eagerly, lays herself out across his lap, and closes her eyes.

*

_”It’s…I don’t…it’s not about pain,” she mumbles, fumbles over her words because she’s finally drunk enough to vocalize her thoughts. To bare her soul._

_If she’d ever thought about it, she wouldn’t have guessed that it would be to him, but it seems appropriate somehow. Sherlock, she’s sure, could read it in the tilt of her head or the hesitant curl of her lips, but John has to be told and that’s reassuring. Freeing._

_“It’s just…” she trails off, gestures vaguely as if that will somehow convey to him what it is about. She manages to glance up at him, to say something—she’s not sure what—but there’s understanding in his dark eyes, a flash of_ knowing _that halts her words, her thoughts, and she’s frozen in disbelief, in relief, in mixed emotions that she never suspected this unassuming bloke would inspire in her._

_“You know,” she says, and it’s less a verbal stall tactic and a tacit acknowledgement._

*

“You’ve been a bad girl,” he tells her and she shivers. He has one hand resting on her back and the other isn’t touching her. The fact that she doesn’t know where it is is maddening.

A small gasp escapes her when he swats her lightly. “Pay attention,” he rebukes her sharply and she swallows roughly.

“S-Sorry.”

“Now. I think you’ve been very bad. Haven’t you?” He smacks her bottom again, harder this time, though it’s still mostly sound as opposed to feeling.

“Y-yes,” she admits, and he spanks her once again, properly this time, and she can’t stop herself from squeaking in surprise, her body quaking.

“Stay still,” he orders her and she clenches her fists and squeezes her eyes shut.

“Yes, sir.”

He spanks her once again and then rubs his fingers over the spot he’s just hit. “Tell me what you’ve done wrong.”

She gulps, takes a deep breath, and tries to think. Her hesitation costs her, however, when he spanks her three times in a row, each harder than the last. The third nearly causes her to cry, her eyes prickling and her throat tingling in time with the throbbing of her bum.

“I, um, I…lied. To you.”

“Yes, you did, but you’re being far too vague.” He spanks her twice more, in the same spot, and she can nearly imagine the way her pale skin is reddening from his attention.

“I-I,” she sniffles and gulps, her body tense and shuddering. It’s completely beyond her control and, as such, she is thankfully not corrected for it. “I lied to you about Sherlock,” she gets out in a rush, her voice cracking on Sherlock’s name.

“Hmmm,” he hums. It’s not a forgiving sound, and she’s not surprised when he spanks her again, over and over, until she can’t think or sense anything other than his hand bringing her punishment and forgiveness in equal measure.

Her mind floats, her body losing the rigid tension and nervousness she carries with her, until—when he finally stops—her bum is on fire but all of the muscles in her back and neck feel ever so much better and her eyes can barely open on their own.

“I’m sorry,” she croaks, unprompted, and glows a bit to feel him rub soothingly at her bum.

“Molly,” he begins gently, his hands careful around her waist, “shift a bit and let me up.” The sternness is gone from his voice, but she still does as he says. With his help, she manages to squirm off his lap and more fully onto the bed. She hears him move around, but she’s still floating, still content and unbothered. It’s not until she feels the bed dip and a soothing coolness on her burning bottom that she descends more fully into the world around her.

*

_”What about after?” he asks quietly._

_Her face flames and she ducks her head. “I-it’s not about s-sex,” she stutters, embarrassed, although that’s not completely the truth. Sometimes it is, but mostly it’s not._

_“I know,” he says carefully. “I mean, do you just…” he trails off and she glances up at him once again. He’s looking at his beer, his brow furrowed. “Is it just…correction and it’s over, or is there. Well. Aftercare?”_

_“Oh!” she glances back down. “Well. Um, I’ve never…there’s never—that is to say, this is all…theoretical.”_

_“Ah.”_

_*_

“You did so well,” he murmurs to her as he rubs soothing lotion into her skin. 

“But do you forgive me?” she asks in a small voice, her eyes closed and her face turned away. 

She feels him scoot closer and place a kiss to her bare shoulder. It’s not sensual, but it is reassuring. It feels like forgiveness. She exhales slowly and feels exhaustion pulling her away into comforting darkness. 

“Yes.” 


End file.
